Chris Richardson can tell you exactly where he was when it happened. He can tell you the day of the week it occurred, what he was doing, and who was with him at the time.
It was a Saturday and Chris was sitting at his dining room table going over the weekly sale flyers. One of the local hardware stores was having a sale on carbon monoxide detectors and Chris thought about getting one now that it was furnace season. A furniture store was offering thirty percent off recliners. Chris always thought those things were ugly, but he had to admit they were comfortable, at least the one his dad had back in the day was. Maybe he’d get one when he was old.
Just as he was about to leaf through the grocery store flyers his fourteen year old son, Brady walked in with his best friend from school.
“Hey Dad, can you drive Wyatt and me to the movies?” Brady asked.
“Sure. What are you going to see?”
“That new Quentin Tarantino movie.”
“Oh no you’re not,” Chris said in his sternest dad voice.
“But Dad!” Brady whined.
“You know how your mother and I feel about those type of movies,” Chris told him.
The two boys rolled their eyes at one another, as if to say “Oh my God! My dad is so lame!” and “I know, mine is too.”
“Come on! Please!” Brady whined even further.
“No!” Chris fired back.
“Because I said so!”
And that’s when it happened. That was when Chris realized that he had become his father. A boring, geeky, past-his-prime, out of touch old fart. How did this happen? He still drove a Jeep, he knew who Jay-Z was, and he watched Family Guy. That made him cool, didn’t it? Or maybe, in his son’s eyes, that made him someone who was trying to hold on to his youth.
“Hey, what are you guys talking about?” his wife asked as she walked into the dining room.
“I was just telling Brady that I was thinking about getting a recliner. Do you boys want to go check one out with me?”
“Maybe in another thirty years,” his son replied, not realizing that those thirty years would go by in the blink of an eye.